Little Slightly when she was little with her Great Grandma Mary

Little Slightly writes:

As I sauntered leisurely out of the house, my little sister in my arms, I whispered:

“I love you
a bushel and a peck
and a hug around the neck.”

She chuckled blissfully as I strapped her into her car seat. I looked back. No horses. Bummed, I turned back to the car and buckled myself in. Off to the nursing home we went. It’s not a long drive, but with two adults, three little kids and myself, it’s not wise to take the chance.

We arrived at the home just before noon. Everything was white. The sky. People. Buildings. Even the air had drawn a blank. As we arrived at Monmouth Nursing Home, I noticed something I hadn’t thought of in years: Where were the peppermints? They were always on the table waiting for me whenever I came. This strange phenomenon, I used to assume, was for me. The first spark of the fire that always seemed to hone my day. Gone.

On my first step in, I searched for his door. One. Two. Three. There it was. Six years since I had been in that room to see him.

Six years since he’d died.

Remembering him is confusing. Should I be happy? Mom says it’s better this way. When I was three he broke his leg. Since he worked on a farm, going back was out of the question. At least now he’s no longer in pain. Should I be sad? We were close. He always made me laugh, though the last time I saw him I don’t remember well.

I was only six then. Great grandma and I first wandered toward the horses at the end of the road- a businessman who dwelled nearby owned a small handful of horses in a pasture that surrounded two sides of the complex of condos. They loved sugarcubes.

After we fed and pet the lovely creatures, we began our brief journey toward Grandaddy. The moment I walked in, there they were! I grabbed a bite-sized treat as we lurched through the door. I stumbled through the door wearing a bright new blue bug dress my Great Aunt Alberta had made for me.

After that, my memory fades abruptly; as though the tape playing my memory has burned. But I remember the look on my Great grandmother’s face: the joy she had spending time with me and the excitement to see her husband.

For now, the six of us wandered through the building, this time for my Great Grandma. The beige walls were poking us from all sides. I could feel what seemed like thousands of eyes on me from elderly strangers relaxing throughout the halls. We stopped firmly while passing my Great-great Aunt’s room where Great Grandma had been softly chatting with her younger sister.

“You can’t get visitors when you’re not in your room, Grandma,” my mother exclaimed. “Ohh. Why hello there. Why don’t we go ahead to the brown room.”

As we retreated back toward the entrance, she indicated: “You know when your Grandpa was here it was called the blue room. It was a lot brighter then. His favorite room in the building.”

When we walked in, I noticed a wise looking old woman with a puzzle in the back. My youngest brother merrily approached her and asked her for her name – something that’s still entirely normal for him. At that point, I shifted my attention back to my Great Grandmother. She explained how the woman was 100-years-old. Great Grandma was 90.

Grandaddy would have been 98.

“You know, when your Grandpa died, I got you a book called When Someone Dies.” Her soft voice soothed me.

“I remember.”

“With your Aunt you may need it soon.” Her daughter. My Great Aunt. Her long running battle with cancer would soon come to an end. But she did give it one hell of a fight.

Before we left for home, Great Grandma and I recited what we always did:

Great grandma: ‘I love you a bushel and a peck’
Me: ‘and a hug around the neck.’

I left the nursing home the same way I went in: disappointed yet hopeful… and wishing for peppermint.

In loving memory to Mary Lincoln who never stopped caring for anyone (1924-2016).

Pic via Little Slightly